


The Love Song of Samuel T. Anders, a crackpoem

by boom_queen



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock - T. S. Eliot
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crackpoetry, Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-10
Updated: 2007-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_queen/pseuds/boom_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crackpoem that begs the question: what if Sam had been hearing that song since New Caprica?  How would it have affected his identity and his relationship to Kara?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love Song of Samuel T. Anders, a crackpoem

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up through the end of Season 3

**The Love Song of Samuel T. Anders**  
(based upon "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot)

LET us go then, you and I,  
When the evening is spread out against the sky  
Like a cylon vaporized by heavy rounds;  
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,  
The drunken retreats  
Of restless nights in war-torn abandoned schools  
And rescue promises to hopeful fools:  
Streets that follow like a tedious argument  
Of insidious intent  
To lead you to an overwhelming question …  
Oh, do not ask, “Do you hear that too?”  
Let us go and drink free booze.

In the room the women come and go  
Talking of that CAG, Apollo.

The subtle song that rubs its back upon the tent-flaps, (15)  
The siren song that rubs its muzzle on the tent-poles  
Sings its tune into the corners of the evening,  
Whispers upon the ambrosia that flows in cups,  
Let fall upon its back the ash that falls from stogies,  
Slipped by the lovers, my wife and her Lee, (20)  
And seeing that it was a soft New Caprican night,  
Curled up beneath a table, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time  
For the subtle song that slides along the street,  
Rubbing its back upon the tent-flaps; (25)  
There will be time, there will be time  
To prepare my face to meet the faces that I’ll meet;  
There will be time to frak and to fight,  
And time for all the drinks and kisses of men  
That lift and drop a question at her feet; (30)  
Time for her and time for me,  
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,  
And for a hundred visions and revisions,  
Before the Final Four discovery.

In the room the women come and go (35)  
Talking of frakking Apollo.

And indeed there will be time  
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”  
Time to turn in my rack and face the hall,  
With that siren tune singing above it all— (40)  
[They will say: “How his mind is leaving him!”]  
My black shirt, her tags resting firmly on my chest,  
My hair cut short and harsh, but asserted by my easy grin—  
[They will say: “But how his leg and heart are broken!”]  
Do I dare (45)  
Disturb the universe?  
In a minute there is time  
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—  
Have known the Sixes, Sevens, Threes, (50)  
I have measured out my life in resistance to these;  
I know the voices dying with an anguished cry  
Beneath the torture in another room.  
So how should I begin?

And I have known the song already, known it all— (55)  
The notes that fix you in a revealing phrase,  
And when I am revealed, reeling amongst the Four,  
When I am one of them and beginning to fall,  
What was it all for?  
I can't give up all resistance of my days and ways, (60)  
And how should I begin?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—  
Women that are haloed by light and glare  
[But in the lamplight, downed with light blond hair!]  
It is the memory of her caress (65)  
That makes me so digress?  
Arms that lie along the bedside, or rear up for a brawl.  
And should I then presume?  
And how should I begin?  
. . . . .  
Shall I say, I have hummed at dusk from the subtle song (70)  
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes  
Of lonely men in eye-patches, leaning against bars?…

I should have been a pair of ragged gloves  
Skimming across her sides during pyramid.  
. . . . .  
And my wife, my warrior, sleeps so peacefully! (75)  
Comforted by my long fingers,  
But his touch … her trauma … the past lingers,  
Stretched on the bed, here beside her and me.  
Should I, after fake husbands and daughters and lost brothers  
Have the strength to put myself before the others? (80)  
But though I have wept and fallen, wept and strayed,  
Though I have seen my hands [looking slightly pale] against new lovers’ skin,  
Kara is gone—and cannot know my sin;  
I have seen the remnants of my broken marriage flicker,  
And I have seen the other nuggets watch my bunk, and snicker, (85)  
And in short, I was ashamed.

And would it have been worth it, after all,  
After the holocaust, the fighting, the cuckoldry,  
Among the pain, among some talk of her and me,  
Would it have been worth while, (90)  
To have shrugged off the matter with a smile,  
To have pinned our problems onto the wall  
To tell her picture my nagging suspicion,  
To say: “I am a Cylon, known from this song,  
Come to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— (95)  
While she, throwing her bra over her head,  
Should say: “I cannot love you, Sam.  
Perhaps I never loved you at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,  
Would it have been worth while, (100)  
After the games and the tattoos and her smug smile,  
After the wedding, after the trysts, after the boots thrown inside the door—  
And this, and so much more?—  
Frak! I cannot say exactly what I mean!  
But as if a tyllium blast cast my sins in shadows on a screen: (105)  
Would it have been worth while  
If she, nursing her rotgut or tearing off her tanks,  
And turning toward the bunk, should say:  
“I’ll always love you, Sam,  
I’ll always need you when I fall.”  
. . . . . (110)  
No! I am not Captain or Commander, nor was meant to be;  
Am a second choice, one that will do  
To distract her from the past, cause a scene or two,  
Advise the heroine; no doubt, an easy tool,  
Assured, glad to be of use, (115)  
Patient, faithful, and accommodating;  
Full of high passion, but a bit obtuse;  
At times, in love, almost ridiculous—  
Almost, at times, the Fool.

So that's it … After all this time … (120)  
A switch goes off and and I know my kind.

Shall I leave my wife behind? Or is she beyond my reach?  
I shall shall push her out of mind, and listen to Tigh’s speech.  
I have heard the klaxons singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me. (125)

I have seen them blaring to the crew  
Calling all to their stations for the fight,  
While I stand in denial, frozen by fright.

We have lingered in the chambers of the ship  
As strangers beckoned by the subtle song's sound (130)  
Till Cylon voices wake me, and I drown.  



End file.
